To Breathe (The Choice)
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12.09, First Blood. How do the boys deal with the aftermath of the sacrifice they made for each other together? And how do they respond to what their mom almost sacrificed for them? (And I need comforting bromance after that emotionally grueling episode.)
1. Part 1

THE CHOICE

The sting in the tender flesh of his palm is a constant reminder of the choice they had to make. He had to make. The shallow slash bites at him and sends comforting flames of pain licking at his senses as he digs his finger tips into it. The car is dark and quiet around them, the silence even thicker then the night outside.

The free air in Dean's lungs burns his throat and chest and while his spirit and soul flies free hurtling towards home and baby his heart is heavy with the sadness between the four of them. The relief, as tangible as Sam sitting just in front of him within touching distance, is crushing to say the least. His hair, his warmth...his dimples, God they're both still alive.

He has to look down at his own hands a few times, let his fingers run through that cut to remind himself that this is, in fact, real. He can feel Mary's simmering frustration with them from where she drives but he lets it wash over him in another soothing reminder that they are together again. Cas is looking at him with fond exasperation in his gaze every few minutes and Dean is basking in that too.

Real things and feelings, pleasant or unpleasant are both welcome to him. And he'll gladly deal with an angry Mom as long as he's there to experience it. He feels forgiveness and love and relief in Mary as she stops by the road and gets him and Sam some real food. And it smells so good...good enough to eat up in one bite. He tries at least.

It's testimony to how much Cas and Mary had worried about them that their mom doesn't stop driving...those two want Dean and Sam safe inside the bunker as soon as possible. The ride back to Lebanon is about a thousand times too long for Dean to stay awake through. As soon as Sam's head falls to the side and his breaths grow sweet and soft with sleep Dean's own body crashes and his forehead falls against the window.

He's aware of Cas warm and firm beside him...he's safe, Cas is keeping watch. Sam is asleep and safe too, their mom is alive and safe...he's thinking of the conversation waiting for all of them...but more importantly between he and Sam. He can feel the wounds, the scars torn open like great holes in the earth, smoldering and angry.

Deals, death, being locked up...it was all way to close to home for both of them. And the amount of time it would take to heal from this hurts Dean's head. But he can't help his brother exhausted, can't help himself exhausted...his brain is an open, raw, pulsing thing in and of itself, and Dean hides from the pounding in his head and all the traumatic memories he had buried that reality had forced back on him in sleep.

He slips into slumbers dark and thick...but he can't shake the feeling of 'trapped' even in his rest.

...

He gets the highest of all highs when they're break out of the facility and disappear into the woods. He keeps at Dean's heels as they run between the trees. This is what they're meant to be doing, this is where they belong. Side by side, on the hunt. God, he wouldn't want anything else to be his last day...or his last hours with Dean.

Sam's chest is rising and falling quickly, panting with their race, Dean's eyes are wide and so so green it hurts as he sweeps their surroundings thinking over their next move. Dean had always been their strategist. The cold, free air is burning in his lungs so good and the wind in his hair is making him feel invincible...that's the high.

And he and Dean are soaring through the heavens together.

One last time.

They lay in wait for the highly trained soldiers and Sam feels dark satisfaction when he leaves the rusty first aide kit with his victim in a borrowed twist of Dean's easy irony. They grin like fools heading off into the woods and the younger Winchester can't help but leave one last tribute to them...their brotherhood, their partnership...it's about to be over.

"We're the guys who saved the world."

And as they climb into the car with their mom and Cas Sam is coming down from the high and he knows there is no way in hell Dean is going to 'keep on doing good' without him. And he knows Dean will ask him to do it...and he knows he owes Dean at least that much. Owes it to the years they were each other's whole existence, owes it to the rest of his life that he'll be living without his brother.

Wants the last thing Dean sees to be him and his puppy dog eyes and sad dimpled smile...if his so so strong brother has to go down, has to be done doing good and doing their work, be done living his extraordinary life, then god help him, he wants to be the one to do it. He owes it to Dean, to the work they've accomplished together, the days and nights no one knows about, the smiles and laughs, the tears, the grunts of pain, blood running and drying.

No one else had that, no one else gets to take it away from them.

So Sam takes a deep breath and when Billie makes herself known his heart is breaking but he meets Dean's eyes straight on, a dying hope in his that somehow Dean will let him go instead. But Sam knows his brother, if he knows anything he knows this; Dean won't live because of someone else's death. He can't, would never survive like that, it goes against the very grain of his soul.

And then Cas is drawing his angel blade from Billie's dead body and his face is set and terrible, truly an angel of the Lord. And he's saying no more sacrifices and yes, Sam thinks desperately, wanting to grab Mary and Dean, both of which have died for him already, and just run and hide for the rest of their lives.

It was a stupid deal, Cas says and again Sam has to agree but what were they were supposed to do? Rot in there the rest of their lives? Die before they saw each other ever again...stay caged between those four walls.

Sam shivers. Just no. Lucifer's torture had treated him better. And Dean god, his big brother needed wind running through his hair, real food, grease and calories...cheap beer and just as expensive liquor. The only truly fine thing his brother seemed to properly appreciate. Dean was so easy. And as they get back into the car and Mary points them towards home, his hands are shaking and when they get home he really wants some liquor and he really wants to sip it with his big brother. Alive, air thrumming with his energy, his heart beat speeding and slowing with their conversation or whatever their watching on TV. They laugh with and at each other all the way until one of them drops off and then the other follows easily...

They wake with sore necks a handful of minutes later and Dean stumbles back to his room to stretch out on his own bed, Sam simply flops over taking back the space Dean had been in and being back to sleep within seconds frowning with the cold air Dean lets into the room when he opens the door.

That's all he wants. Not much right? He doesn't think so. So he wolfs down the food their mom gives them barely staying awake in the adrenaline crash, smiles fondly after his disgusted grimace at the happy noises Dean's making over his burger, gulps down ice cold water (he's never drinking apple juice again) and lets his mind and body crash.

Never mind the panic and darkness chasing him with the memories of being caged, with being hunted in the night, the fear of losing Dean, their Mom...all feelings he had hoped he would never feel again. He slips into blissful ignorance before his mind becomes a problem. Dean's presence behind him helps lure him into a temporary peace and he lets it drag him down.

...

It's just a rippling wave of unrest, but it's chasing him through his dreams growing bigger and bigger, thoughts moving faster and faster whispering of things he feared most. _You'll never seen him again, you're never getting out of here, he's dying...you're dying._ There's pain too, faint but there. An annoying reminder of his body in the wakeful world...he doesn't want to wake up.

Even with nightmares this is the best sleep he's had for the past two months. But consistent sharp _hurt_ in his stomach is pulling him rapidly towards consciousness and he wakes to a warm palm on the side of his neck, slender fingers under his ear supporting his head, a thumb on his chin angling his face away from the window. Cas.

His blue eyes come into view, wrinkles, or more wrinkles than usual cluing Dean into the fact that his best friend is worried. He hears himself groan, Cas purses his lips quizzically.

"Dean, are you alright?" He asks, but it's so far away for Dean he can't quite connect Cas' words and himself together. He must have been talking in his sleep he thinks, and he sees Sam half turned in his seat and damn, did he look as bad as he did?

"Sammy," he tries to get out because he hurts and he's about to throw up, and is Sam alright?

"He's gonna puke," he hears his little brother say in tight tones, like Sam doesn't feel so hot either. And maybe it's the fear and confusion following him from his dreams but the car spins a little around him and as Mary slams on the brakes he's almost thrown into Sam's seat in front of him. Cas holds onto him though and then Dean has the door open and he's on his knees in wet grass tossing up the food he had eaten. Cas climbs out behind him because he looks over through tear blurred eyes and spots Sam on one knee wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes faraway but worried, looking at Dean.

 _Oh yeah,_ he thinks grimly, _miles and miles to go before we're through this._ Because haunted is a look he knows all too well on Sammy.

"Maybe too soon with the real food." He hears Sam say, with a grimacing smile in the tone, and then their mom is on her knees beside Dean wiping his face with a napkin and he sends her smile, taking it from her and doing it himself.

The heavy sleep and its images are finally leaving Dean for good. This is real, Cas' hand heavy and warm in between his shoulder blades, their mom's soft smile, her blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight literal inches away and that's Sam's hand in front of his face offering to help pull him back to his feet.

He takes it and the air is cool around his swimming head as he stands, lets a hand on Sam's forearm steady him, leans into the silent strength of Cas' hand on his back. Sam's hair is wild, tossed in the wind, his eyes even wilder landing on him fixedly sparkling and glazed...Dean knows he's dealing with the same dreams and fears.

"You good?" Sam asks, "If that prison food did a number on me, I can't imagine what it did to you."

Mary and Cas are silent, watching them interact more in tune with each other than ever before, like hawks, probably waiting for them to crack, to go crazy or something...something other than this eerie calm that Dean could bathe in forever.

"I thought the food was pretty good." Dean says, and his voice cracks with a dryness in his throat. The toothy grin accompanied by dimples and a fond shake of the head is the only thing Dean needs to chase away the rest of the nightmares.

"Of course you did." Sam laughs softly, and folds himself back into his seat, sighing exhaustedly. Dean lets Cas push him back into the car, takes the water Sam passes back to him, of course he's noticed the roughness of his voice.

Neither of them try to fall asleep again.

...

Sam is jerked from the wandering nightmares by his brother's voice. It's hoarse, and broken and pleading (no one else would hear the fear, but he does) and it worsens the ache in his chest. Cas' low rumble is layered over it, words meant to calm and soothe his brother that Sam already knows won't work.

He runs hands down his face, digs fingers into his gritty eyes. Is it just him or is it hot and stuffy in here? No wonder Dean's restless, he can probably barely breathe back there...he really misses Baby right now. Her engine's rumble would have put Sam and Dean to sleep for good, and the rest would have have stayed good and peaceful.

He hears the pain in Dean's mumbled words sooner then he feels the excruciating cramps in his own stomach. Shit, complete diet change to soon, too fast. The pain ripples under his skin, bubbling in his stomach threatening to boil up at any moment.

Dean's eyes crack, wild and glazed over roving over the interior of the car searching for something...

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asks, and Dean's eyes snap to his face. Lines of tension fall away, Sam watches a little more awareness bleed into Dean's expression when his brother finds him. The tightness of his frame doesn't go away though, his fingers clench in his palms and Sam vaguely thinks of the cut there being pulled wider.

"Sammy." Dean manages a plea, and when Sam thinks of that cut and the meaning of the matching one on his palm it's the last straw.

"He's gonna puke," he spits out, really meaning, we're both gonna puke.

Mary skids to a stop beside the road and Sam has his door open in record time. He hears the quiet, somewhat familiar sound of Dean retching beside him, hears the way his knees hit the ground and grimaces, only falling on one of his own so he can lean on the other one.

Dean is bent double, one hand fisting in the wet grass, Mary appears beside him, her face creased with worry. Sam sends her what's meant to be a comforting smile.

"Maybe a little too soon with the real food." He grimaces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Mary hands him a napkin and then goes to Dean. His heart aches with the sight, Dean's unfocused eyes landing unbelievingly on their mother's face.

 _We did it, Dean._ He thinks. _We did it again._ And it's a scary thought, but it wasn't only them this time. This time the people closest to them helped, came through. Proved they were more than pretty words and family blood. It's scary as hell knowing he and Dean hadn't done it all themselves meaning they couldn't only depend on themselves, but also exhilarating; they have others trusting and loving them. But scarier still, they have people they must trust and love too. It can be hard for them to come outside their bubble of brotherly instinct and silent communication.

Sam's heart is at ease and brimming to running over at the sight of their friend and mother fussing over Dean. It's the best thing he's ever seen. He takes one step and that leaves him planted in their midst, a part of them. Dean latches onto his hand and Sam pulls him up, Dean leans into him, but not away from Cas, doesn't try and hide that he's struggling for their Mom. So Sam doesn't either.

"You good?" He asks, the worry, desperation and tiredness reflecting in his voice, but the love and exhilaration evident there too.

Dean's eyes leap to his and study him minutely, his lips slip up into a sad excuse for a smile, but it's better then nothing. Sam lets his head cock to the side a little, "If that prison food did a number on me, I can't imagine what it did to you."

Dean hears the challenge and fondness in his tone. _We're okay, we can deal with the dreams, with the memories. We're still together._

"I thought the food was pretty good." He mumbles. And Sam smiles widely. _I know, it's going to be hard but we made it. We made it, Sammy._

"Of course you did." Sam says with a relieved laugh, and lets his breath sigh out as he collapses back into his seat. He's shaking from vomiting, the taste acrid in his mouth. But he's feeling more put together as the rest of them climb back into the car. He can feel Dean's nervous energy behind him, glances back through the rear view mirror to find Cas talking to him softly. Seems even naive angels can pick up on the fact that Dean is distracted easily.

Mary switches on the radio, familiar sounds washing over Sam and easing tension from his muscles. He and Dean's eyes meet in the rear view mirror though, and it's the moment that their souls connect and mirror into each other.

And Sam sees the haunted, hollow feeling in his own heart in Dean's eyes. And he knows they're not feeling, or thinking half as much as they will yet. Knows they're dealing with the physical results from their ordeal right now, but not the emotional or mental.

He sees the same unsteady, anxious nervousness he's vibrating with in Dean and he tries to send comfort and assurance to his brother through the silence. Neither of them even attempt to go back to sleep even though their minds are shutting down with exhaustion, their eyes hooded with tiredness.

They both know what awaits them in their dreams, sleep that isn't restful, sleep that would wear them out more than anything. Sam looks away from Dean's expressive, bloodshot eyes and knows they're not going to last too long. That they're going to have to face it, talk about it, dream about it...think about it.

He cracks the window, because honestly he can't breathe...with every thought and breath and beat of his heart he has to remind himself he's not in that place anymore and just behind him, nodding along to Cas' words Dean is the best reminder of all. Their eyes are back in the mirror, the best they can do for now, each other the only proof that it had all been real and that this was real too.

There's still a little niggling doubt in the back of their heads though. Sam struggles to ground himself as Dean's eyes flit from his to Cas with a confused lost, hopeful expression on his face. _We're going home,_ Sam thinks, _it'll feel real at home._

...tbc

Alrighty guys SPN is back! So relieved and happy, loved this episode...hope u guys are as glad I'm back as I am to be back! Lets have some more fun ;):)

Lemme kno what y'all think?!


	2. Part 2

Hopefully this half will be a little lighter :)

Part 2.

Home. The smell, the silence, the security...Sam swears it'll only be a miracle or the next apocalypse that makes him leave the bunker ever again. (It will most likely be an apocalypse.) He takes in a huge breath of the still, cool, familiarly scented air and lets it sigh out in relief. The smells of him and Dean and their life here together wash over his senses, the soft lighting filters up to the stairs from the library caressing over his burning eyes.

He hears Dean taking in a similarly deep and happy breath behind him and they both start descending the stairs in tandem. Their mom follows behind them, she seems to understand the 'hugeness' of this moment for them.

They made it. They actually made it back home. Sam's still not even sure how, hasn't yet registered the events of the last twenty-four hours. He just knows this was a miracle in and of itself, and he vows he's never taking it for granted again.

He sends Dean an elated look who gives him a soft smile in return. His brother's fingers tips slip reverently along the backs of the chairs, his eyes roving over their home full of a gentle light. Sam finds himself smiling at him, his heart impossibly full.

Mary stands at the end of the tables a fond smile playing on her lips, her heart both light and heavy at the sight of her boys. This is their home, but she knows it has nothing to do with her. Sam knows she understands, and that's why he ignores her presence for the moment, lets himself bask in this moment with Dean and the place they had made mean something to them.

"So," her voice break the silence, and Dean's head jerks towards her as if he'd forgotten she was there. He probably had. Sam smiles to himself, they both needed sleep so bad.

"Sleep or food first?" She asks, blue eyes alive with a love and devotion that makes Sam's heart jump.

"Shower." They answer together, and then break into giddy laughter.

"Right," Mary answers, "Food afterwards or..."

"Bed for me," Dean answers, hands lingering over his eyes a little too long as he rubs them down his face, clueing Sam into the fact that he's got a brutal headache.

"Me too, Mom." Sam says, sending her a grin because he knows she probably needs to some reassurance too, knows that the past weeks can't have been easy for her.

She nods, "Okay then."

"You gonna stay here?" He asks and she nods a uninterpretable look in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'll be here."

They all three turn towards the halls, Mary to the kitchen, Dean and Sam to their rooms.

"Mom." It's Dean's voice and it halts them all. She turns towards them, her face unreadable, but Dean's is like an open wound the guilt, regret and uncertainty rankling in it like gangrene. "Tonight...that's not what I..." he glances to Sam minutely, "...that's not what we wanted."

"I know that Dean..." she says stepping back towards them.

"You can't just," he interrupts her. Clenches his teeth and fists his hands with what he's trying to say. "You can't do that anymore, you can't step in and pay for our mistakes...you just can't. I can't..."

"Dean." She stops him stepping up into his space. His eyes, glistening with hurt and regret meet her shining baby blues. She lays a small, white hand on the side of his face and Sam's heart aches with the way Dean unconsciously turns his face into the touch.

"Yes I can." She says softly but firmly. And he opens his mouth to object. "I can." She asserts again. "And I will. I'm not..." and it's her turn to struggle with words. "I might not be everything you ever dreamed I could be, I might not agree or believe in hunting like you do..." she glances over to Sam to include him the conversation, her other hand coming to lie lightly on his forearm.

"...but I believe in you. I believe in the good you do. And I fail you, and I know I hurt you...but I will fight for you, and if I get the chance to sacrifice my life for yours I'll do it in a heart beat.

"You deserve to live just as much as I do." She says softly. Before Dean can rid himself of the frozen, shocked look on his face she's tipping up on her toes and places a nearly reverent kiss on the arch of his cheek bone.

She smiles catching the sight of his eyes closed with the tender display of affection. "Now," she levels a firmer gaze at the both of them, "You guys get some real sleep, alright?"

Sam nods and they both watch her go and then turn going to their perspective rooms wordlessly.

...

Home. God, Dean swears he's never leaving again. Crowley, all his hell hounds, and demon minions couldn't drag him, not even close. He hits his mattress hard but feels like a feather floating down on a bed of a million other feathers. His ceiling, thank heaven, his very own, familiar ceiling is above him.

The twirling of the fan above him comforting, the soft light easy on his burning eyes. His sheets are angel soft on his skin, his pillow deep and cool under his aching head. It's everything he'd dreamed about while being locked up...so why can't he sleep?

He cannot breathe. Just can't draw in a deep enough breath. Cannot find air clear and clean enough, can't make the feeling of boulders on his chest go away. He lays on his back, one hand flat on the mattress feeling the thread count of his sheets the soft hum of music coming from the headphones he's not wearing anymore, discarded on the mattress. The other hand rests on his chest, fingers playing a soothing rhythm on his sternum.

Nothing puts his whirl wind of a mind to rest.

Finally he sighs deep and gives up, grabs his phone, boots and coat and heads out into the silent bunker in defeat. The halls are dark but he enjoys listening to his echoing footfalls, he loves the way the low library lights reflect of the finished hard wood floors. Doesn't take the feel of smooth crystal of his favorite decanter and whiskey glass as he grabs it en route. Loves the coldness of the rails under his hand as he pads up the stairs and relishes the feeling of wind hitting him full in the face as he swings the bunker door open.

He leans against the firm iron when it shuts behind him and he watches his breath fog in the freezing air. He doesn't mind the prickling of his skin, or the way his eyes water with the cold because the door isn't shutting him in, isn't shutting him out. It's simply there, it's his. His door to his home, he leans against it staring at the starry sky above his place in this world.

He finally breathes easier. All of wide, flat Kansas laid out in front of him definitely enough room to breathe, to let the feelings off his chest...to feel free again.

When his chest begins to burn with the coldness of his deep breaths he gives one last sigh and decides he's putting all this to rest. He's free, he's here with his mom and Sam and Cas...somewhere...no ghosts, no demons, no nightmares. He survived and he's free of it...he'll be damned if he lives on being a prisoner of the past.

Yeah, that sounds way too healthy for him.

He sets the whiskey and his phone down on the concrete edge and slips into his coat and boots, not bothering to lace them up. He sits on the ground, back against the cinderblock wall and grabs the glass, pours himself a finger of whiskey. Sips it, welcomes the oh so good burn, and the even better warmth that spreads in his stomach when he swallows.

The back of his head connects with the wall in a just this side of painful thump and his eyes are overwhelmed with the stars. It's so cold their light is brighter then Dean thinks he's ever seen, and he lets his gaze wander meaninglessly trying to see all to be seen but knowing he never would. The best feeling. His time is his own, the sky is his...this moment and it's tranquility is his.

The door grinds on its hinges but it doesn't disturb Dean's euphoric mood, it's a sound he's been expecting as inevitable. Familiar footfalls crunch in the gravel and then Sam slumps to the ground, firm and warm and _real_ next to him. Dean wordlessly takes the glass he's holding in his hand and pours him some whiskey that Sam no doubt looked for before he came out. (Little brother loved the nice stuff.) Sam huffs a breath that clouds in the air and zips up his coat to his chin, and accepts the glass getting started on warming up.

Sam's head rests back on the wall, his eyes reflecting the stars above as he does as Dean had just been doing; taking in the vastness of the universe around them.

And Dean can finally _breathe_.

...

Sam wakes in a cold sweat honestly surprised he even got as far as sleeping in the suffocating feeling of his room. He's hyper aware, feels everything, hears everything. That little cell having part ways desensitized him. Rising up on his elbows and consulting his phone and, almost screaming when the bright light hits him in the face, he finds he was only out for about thirty minutes.

He flops down on his back and breathes in and out of his nose steadily, staring at the ceiling and the fan. Four walls and a ceiling are far too constraining for him right now though and he finds himself up and half way to Dean's room without so much as a coherent thought.

His brother's door is open, and Sam can make out the twisted, empty sheets from there. A wry smile shapes his lips as he grabs shoes and coat from his room already sure of where Dean has retreated to. He rubs at burning eyes and blinks somewhat dumbly at the missing decanter of his favorite whiskey but then shakes his head with a dry chuckle and just grabs an extra glass noticing there's one already missing.

He opens their mini fridge there in the library and grins wolfishly when he finds the peanut MnM's he'd left there, Cas didn't think about food thank god or else the candy would have been long gone for sure. He stuffs the bag in his coat pocket and ascends the stairs wondering how he hadn't heard Dean leave.

The door grinds on its hinges and the cold air hits Sam with the most welcome burn, his heart skips with the wave of _freezing_ that accosts his senses. It's a whole different high than before, but just as, if not more welcome. Dean was here waiting, for always...for good.

He spots him a few feet away and envies him the look of complete peace on his face. But it looks like Dean's a few shots ahead of him and Sam is really ready to rectify that, after all he's been waiting for this moment for almost two months now.

Dean is as in tune with him as ever and pours him a generous amount of whiskey without even looking at him. Sam sinks to his rightful spot beside his brother and breathes in more of the clear, crisp air blinks in sudden disbelief and awe of the stars above them.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them as Sam savors a burning mouthful of liquor.

"Mm?" He returns without looking away for the glorious night sky.

"Let's not get arrested again."

"Agreed." He says simply and then finally their eyes meet and they break into the right side of tipsy giggles.

"So..." Dean draws out, taking a drink before continuing. "We good?"

Sam nods, "Yeah of course, why wouldn't we be?"

Dean shrugs and looks down for the first time, and Sam watches him let a handful of gravel fall through his fingers. "Just with deals and stuff."

Sam laughs a little, "Crazy right? Things are not pretty when we get backed into a corner."

Dean purses his lips thoughtfully, "Ain't that the truth."

Sam nudges him with his shoulder, "Hey." And Dean looks up to him. "We did what we had to, we had to make a choice."

"Yeah," Dean says demurely, swirling the liquor around his glass. "I mean, but is that good enough?"

Sam frowns trying to read his brother's profile. "What do you mean?"

"We almost got Mom killed, Sam...again." Dean says gently, but Sam can hear the layers and layers of distress there.

"Hey Dean, no." Sam says firmly, "We're not doing this. And we didn't do that. That was her and only her and her life is her own. We gambled, and we gambled with our own lives, we can't stop her from doing the same."

Dean nods heavily, "Yeah I guess," he says, "I guess it never seems just right."

Sam laughs at that, "Exactly. It'll never be perfect, but lets take the win. I mean Dean, a few hours ago I was looking at the rest of my life without you, this screwed, screwed to hell life and now..." he sighs and looks back up to the stars. "...now we're here, and you're here and just god Dean, let's please take this win."

Dean sends him a sad smile that turns to something more sincere at the end with a twist of the corner of his mouth.

"All's well that ends well? That's your new motto Sam, really?" He teases.

"For tonight anyways." Sam answers sincerely. Then feels his own mood lighten, "You read Little House On The Prairie?"

Dean looks affronted, "And you're telling me you haven't, classic boy."

Sam just shakes his head and laughs, "Woulda thought you stuck to the 'Stephen King' classics is all."

Dean waves him off and takes a long drag from his glass hisses with the burn and Sam smiles, because Dean rarely reacts, only when he's truly enjoying himself does he indulge in the burn of his beverage.

Sam sighs draining the last drop from his glass and revels in where he is right now. Dean beside him breathing and humming under his breath, the wind biting into them reminding them of their very _realness_. The stars above them twinkle and shine so bright and the moon has a ring around it with the cold.

Dean finishes off his first glass of liquor too and holds up the decanter and Sam offers his glass for a refill. He watches Dean's concentrated face as he pours Sam's whiskey. Takes in the beloved face. Green eyes shining with the reflected light of the moon and glazed over a little with the alcohol in his blood. The slight smile on his lips shaping the crow's feet beside his eyes, his longer than usual hair accentuating all the familiar features. Sam thinks of all the days he sat in that cell and thought of this face and wondered if he'd ever see it again.

"I missed you," he says softly. And Dean stops pouring and goes to pour his own, though Sam catches the pause that no one else would have noticed.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean almost breathes into his glass. He takes a drink and Sam hears him swish it around in his mouth and then swallow. "Me too."

Sam feels a contented smile play over his lips and lets his head lean back against the wall again as he hands Dean the bag of MnM's and loves the overjoyed expression on his brother's face. Laughs as Dean hums 'The Candyman' through a mouthful of the chocolate sending Sam flirty glances. Dean mirrors his posture and the following silence is swallowed up by the sound of the wind, the sounds of cars on the near by highway, a dog or coyote barks in the distance and Dean shifts with it, his knee knocking Sam's as he settles again.

All sounds and feelings are of absolute freedom and finally... _finally_ Sam feels the weight lift from his chest and he just _breathes_.

...the end.

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